


And the thought comes

by Devildocks



Series: Tepid tides [1]
Category: Marble Hornets
Genre: Bad Thoughts, Gen, Hallucinations, mentioned vomiting, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-08-22 04:49:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8273543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devildocks/pseuds/Devildocks
Summary: Alex can't think straight.





	

Alex is a ghost in the morning, pale and limping over miles upon miles of caffeine and aching limbs. He’s in motion from the time he’s out of the bed to the time he leaks out from the showers to the kitchen. It’s the same routine. 

sleep, sleep, wake up and eat, don’t stare out the windows, don’t answer your phone. Just wake up and eat, put the dishes away, get dressed, brush up, but don’t stare off for too long, don’t look, don’t wait. don’t wait, don’t wait, don’t---

★

He's used to being in movement, being seen as action and going on for miles and miles without fail. A busy body at best, it works better for him that way, all jiggery fingers and tight lips. but lately he’s been nothing but loose nails on the cutting board, his head spinning in ways that make him tip over and clog up uncomfortable. 

Like there’s knives digging up in the cusp of his throat, flooding up his lungs like a dam, and he bursts. He crash lands, it ends unpleasant. 

the windows always stay shut. He can’t let them open, it gets in, it gets in and then he’ll be sorry, sorry sorry….

★

He doesn’t answer his calls anymore, they’re just names piling up in memory of the concern passed to him in the days untouched. he tells himself he thinks he is, that he’ll be okay in a week. 

But it’s never for certain if he’s sure, because the week comes by and he’s never better, and he’s still blowing chucks in his bathroom sink; the water passing over the mess in floods. he sees red and panics, that's not supposed to happen. He scrambles for towels, the water from the faucet can only do so much. His fingers feel like soap when they pick at the stains. He swears he can hear someone talking from the shower..........

It’s never for certain if he is okay or not. He says he is, but. 

the walls and ceilings tell him different. 

So maybe if he says it enough, it’ll all shut up and leave him be. 

Things can be normal if he tries. 

★  
The window stays closed. it can’t get him if he isn’t looking.

★  
The phone calls stop only after a month, he’s given up on school, and the project. it’s not worth it anymore. 

Everybody involved is gone. He made sure of that didn’t he? Or that he’s half unsure of it and not willing to remember the cause and effect of everything happening around him. the static plays like violence in his head. 

and the thoughts come like fissures and field mines, nuclear and toxic while he waits the night out, keeps his eyes peeled and solid with the walls. It’s better like that, better than sleep. He doesn’t need it, and the window stays closed, it can’t always look in. 

But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t have other ways. That doesn’t mean he’s always safe. 

it’s not always gonna stay that way.

and he knows it.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm ready for death.


End file.
